Home
by MissFeya
Summary: Peacetime, the Arkers have a stable thing going, Clarke is walking home to... Fluff, will evolve as M as we go along: It's a few years after the events in Season 2, completely ignoring the likely events of what will happen in the Season 3-reality. I started this pre-season 3 and am...struggling to write around the current episodes' tone. Trying my best! Let me know what you think.
1. Cold Feet

CH. 1

"Home, home, home," Clarke chants through chattering teeth, her steps landing in rhythm in the snow. Her fur-lined coat and boots and the scarf made from the reflective scraps of an old Ark-blanket, are holding some of the warmth in but there is only so much they can do in negative temperatures. Dark, solitary, negative temperatures. She grumbles a snide interruption to herself about "temperate climate, my ass" and her "liar of an Earth History teacher", and then goes back to chanting.

"Clarke, hey!" A voice comes out of the darkness, then is followed by a bobbing lantern. The moon is hiding behind some clouds, so Jasper's face doesn't materialize until he's a few steps away. She jolts to an unsteady stop.

"Jasper! It's so late. What're you doing out here?"

His boots skid on the snow too and her arm comes out to help, just in case. He swats her hand away, grinning.

"Me? I'm a wanderin' bachelor-man; this is what I do." Jasper's eyes are lit with cheer but she can see the past in them, too; loss had cast a lingering shadow on all of them. His tone remains light, though. "I was exiled from a perfectly good, ahem, herb-sorting..."

Clarke rolls her eyes.

"...session...so that Monty and Miller could do it. Their sex exiled me from my own house." Jasper's eyes light up even more.

"I was 'sex-iled'! Get it?" Clarke automatically raises her hand for the high-five, their heavy gloves meeting with a dull but hardy smack.

Still giggling, he points to a cabin about 10 yards away at the edge of his lantern's light; it disappears and reappears in the gusts of snow. That moon is still hiding.

"I'm going to hang out with Monroe." He brings his lantern over to her face, noticing her red cheeks. "Why are you out here, again? You can't get sexiled. Your sexile would just be, 'Honey, it's time for bed', right?"

Clarke's small smile is hidden somewhat by shyness, and she tilts her head downhill toward the medbay, the great circle of Alpha Station pitch-black against the night's shadows.

"Harper had her twins! It was a long labor but she handled it so well." She hesitates for a split-second. Harper, struggling on the bed in the medbay, gritting her teeth about finally getting some kind of payback for going through torture...

Jasper jumps in, "Both girls? I bet they're both girls." And Clarke smiles.

"They are! How'd you know?"

Jasper looks sheepish for a moment, and she should be warned that a more-than-normal endearing comment is about to come out of him.

"Strong women breed strong women around here, Clarke." He giggles again and gives her a pointed look. One shoulder tips toward her in a half-bow. "You know that."

Clarke feels her heart swell and she suddenly isn't cold, couldn't ever be cold, not when she and her good friend can chat about babies, and life, and legacies. Jasper fidgets under the gratitude dancing in her eyes and makes a little hop in the snow toward Monroe's cabin.

"Aw shucks, Clarke," he teases, wide smile aimed at the ground, and raises the lantern toward her. "You want?" She shakes her head, still unable to say anything.

"Alright, Doc. I'll see ya tomorrow." Suddenly, he flings his lantern high, triumphantly. "I have baby names for Harper!"

Clarke laughs, making sure he can hear her, as he moves toward Monroe's door, his voice fading, "Mary is a good name...Jane's a good name..."

She hears the thunk of Monroe's door closing after Jasper strolls in without knocking; the snow is sweeping across the landscape now to completely hide the cabin from view. Clarke begins up the hill once more, and she speeds up her chanting to get her there faster.

"Home, home, home..."


	2. Warm Body

CH. 2

With a great shiver, Clarke rushes up the steps of the cabin porch like she can not move fast enough. Still, she manages to open the front door and slide inside without making too much noise. Her sigh of relief is certainly audible though, when she notices the fireplace is still going strong. Someone has attended to it recently and much later than usual, maybe waiting for her. Clarke happily eases off her boots, watching snow crystals fall and explode on the floor, and points a silly grin at that fireplace.

 _"It can warm both rooms if it's actually part of the wall!" Bellamy had seemed perturbed by her lack of understanding._

 _Clarke had wanted to know what purpose was served in even having two rooms if you could just look through the fireplace from one space to the other._

 _"Where's my privacy?"_

 _Bellamy shook his head and grumbled to the air, "She wants privacy. Like that's better than heat." He nodded to his usual (invisible) audience; Clarke guesses they share his opinion that her points often "lack in logic". He does this during counsel meetings as much as he does it when she chooses her breakfast._

 _Clarke looked across at the blank, scrubby space on the ground. The location was up the hill from the center of Arcadia; it was close to other cabins being built within the protection of the trees, but had a clear, watchtower-like view of the village. If anything happened, whoever lived here would see it. Clarke had to cough to hide her smile._

 _"Not all of us grab a book and disappear to who-knows-where," her voice had a leading tone, "when we want to be alone, Bellamy."_

 _Keeping his secrets, Bellamy had smirked and turned slightly away to hold his plans up to catch the afternoon light. Clarke watched the sun move behind him, burning a Bellamy-shaped sillhouette onto her vision. He wiggled his elbow a little in invitation, and she stepped over to stand by his shoulder, not missing his grin at her mocking appraisal. He shifted his hands around the edge of the paper to point at one of the rooms on his plans for the cabin._

 _"You stay in here..." his finger slowly dragged across the page to the other room on the plan, "And I'll stay over here-"_

 _Clarke was already pressing her lips together to avoid the smile, one finger raised._

 _"-and I'll promise not to look through the fireplace." He had blinked innocently, the slightest upturn of his lips, ignoring the pointed finger under his nose._

 _"But you would!" Clarke had tried to sound indignant, but it was difficult when every ounce of her own being felt the opposite, when they stood so close and nobody else was around. She had already imagined the situation too well... Bellamy rolled up the plans and folded his arms across his chest, for her benefit, and stared her straight in the eye. In her periphery, on the ground where their cabin would go, their shadows looked like one._

 _"Come off it, princess. You would too." His innocent smile became a dare-you smirk._

 _That this kind of banter happened so easily, had evolved so quickly, had scared her a little back then. She had kept a respectable distance around him when they had first met. Suddenly, she was always in his personal space, nudging him in the line for the showers, using his arm to steady herself when she worked a pebble out of her boot. It had never occurred to Bellamy to mind, only to notice; Clarke had noticed, and did mind, and couldn't stop herself._

 _It ended up that you couldn't see that well through the fireplace's opening, actually, and it was set relatively low in the ground, lower than Bellamy's plans originally displayed. And if Clarke closed their adjoining door, Bellamy always gave her at least an hour before calling her over with counsel matters (which they never ended up talking about), or food (he claimed she needed feeding), or a book (he would read myths out loud while she illustrated the stories onto his wall)._

 _And one day, when he had been "only her cabin-mate" for a maddening amount of time, he had leaned against her closed door and shouted through, "Your ankles look cold, Clarke. It'll warm you up over here". He had the stove, and this wasn't the first time he had used it to bring her over._

 _And she'd mis-understood and opened the door, parroting back in a husky, teasing tone, "You'll warm me up over there? Are you saying you're hotter than the fireplace? How do you propose to do this?", her eyes alight with something new but familiar and definitely hotter than the fireplace. She had been so relieved that he would be the one brave enough to make the move._

 _Bellamy, to his credit, had withstood a full three seconds of hoping his heart could ignore the proximity of their bodies in the door frame, and realizing that hope was futile, before shifting his weight to stand upright in front of her, filling her field of vision. His eyes froze her in place, had kept her breath in her lungs, and in a rough voice, he had asked, "What's the step after 'build the girl a cabin'?"_

Clarke reminisces about this almost every time she comes home, especially in the winter. It is as ritualistic as unpacking her bag, hanging her coat on the first hook, pulling her hair out of its ties, and calling his name. A few things have changed about this routine over time, however, and Clarke moves into the other room with loose hair but no shouting. Babies generally wake up when you shout.


	3. Baby Face

CH. 3

The door creaks ever so slightly as Clarke passes into the bedroom. She does not bother lighting the candle on the shelf, even though the moon isn't helpfully illuminating the room like usual. Fingers running over Bellamy's shirts, then his pants, then his socks, then her socks, her pants, her shirts, Clarke peels off her chilly layers and replaces them with drier versions. Her shoulders rise of their own accord as cold snow-water drips from her hair. Her fingers nimbly plait it back, flipping the tail inside itself to lock the braid, as she makes her way around the bed.

Clarke can barely see Bellamy in the darkness, can picture the blankets pulled up to his nose at least. He won't wake up, unless maybe someone whispers the word "Grounder" on the other side of the village.

"Blakes are not made for cold," he's always muttering. "We sucked at being in space."

Clarke presses her lips together in a suppressed chuckle, and moves toward the wall and her real reason for being so quiet.

 _The cradle was also Bellamy's design, just like the fireplace/wall. He built it for Octavia's son August, probably to work off some of the stress brought on by his little sister being married, to a Grounder no less, and then pregnant as well._

 _"I'm having as many kids as I want, Bell," had come Octavia's response to any of his grumbling. After that, he had channeled the guilt into carving more intricate designs into the cradle._

 _It had made its way to Clarke when she fostered a baby named Amon._

 _Octavia had cheerfully marched up to the gates of Camp Jaha one day, a 6-month-old August on her back and newborn Amon in her arms. Bellamy had been stunned, wondering how Octavia and Lincoln had managed that one._

 _"Do Grounder kids gestate faster or something, O?"_

 _But no, Amon had been orphaned by a sickness spreading through the villages north of TonDC, including the one where Octavia and Lincoln now lived. Octavia had stepped around her brother with purpose and handed the baby over to Clarke._

 _"Could you check that he's still healthy?"_

 _A simple request, that so easily turned into Clarke carrying Amon to dinner with her, playing with him by the fire, letting him fall asleep in her bed. Just a precaution, Clarke had said. But Bellamy could hear her through the wall, humming softly or laughing at Amon's little noises. Octavia didn't ask for Amon when she went away and Clarke sighed with relief. She had playfully tossed Amon into the air and laughed while Bellamy sprinkled grass over his head, causing his brown eyes to widen in surprise, and felt, for once, whole._  
 _And when Octavia came back for the annual New-Unity Day celebrations, a chubby one-year-old August on her hip, Lincoln was with her too, carrying the cradle in their haul from the northern villages._

 _"Octavia! I made that for you!" Bellamy's brow had crinkled, obvious offense taken. Then came his sister's answering scoff._

 _"Bell." She popped a kiss to August's cheek and rolled her eyes. "No you didn't."_

 _Bellamy grumbled something unintelligible and reached out for August, jogging away with him, smiling at how his nephew laughed at the bounce._

 _"C'mere, 'Gust. Your mama's a crazy lady."_

 _Clarke only had Amon for a few more months, but all together she had cared for him for almost a year. Then a Grounder woman arrived right before the snows would slow down most travel and provided enough proof that she was Amon's aunt, Sara. She had been ill with the same sickness that had taken her brother and his wife, but the sickness had passed. The Wanheda was kind...but she had another sister who could help. Amon was a Grounder, not..._

 _Clarke had nodded and immediately headed for the cabin; Bellamy followed. He helped her gather Amon's few things from Clarke's room, his eyes flitting up to her stoically composed face._

 _"You can be mad about this," he had told her gently. But Clarke shook her head and hoisted Amon into her arms._

 _"Just because I took care of him doesn't mean he's mine."_

 _Later, Clarke stroked Amon's cheek as Sara, looking composed but relieved, held him._

 _"We're still family." And Bellamy was the only who heard her._

 _Clarke tried to move the cradle onto Bellamy's side of the cabin but he'd shaken his head, halfway out the front door._

 _"Don't clutter up my space with your stuff, Griffin." And he was gone before she could answer._

Now, toes still feeling a little frozen, Clarke runs her hands over the deer and the bear making up the ends of the cradle, the tiny leaves and arrows that trail along the sides. Octavia had known better than to think Bellamy was specially honoring anything to do with August's Grounder heritage; the entire thing was obviously about Artemis.

 _"Protector of children? Geez, Bell. Your dork is showing."_

 _"You're the one who got the reference. Just take it, Octavia."_

Clarke smiles as she remembers standing off to the side of this encounter, just waiting for her arms to fling out and squeeze Bellamy all on their own. She reaches one finger down to stroke along the button-nose of the crib's current occupant.

"Hi, baby. Hi, Diana."


	4. Right Hand Man

CH. 4

Sometimes Clarke doesn't believe Earth is real, or at least that Earth could be real for those not born on it. Plenty of drama and pain and excitement and contentment had happened on the Ark, but Earth is different. She wonders if the Arkers were innately born with a sense of pause, of purgatory; they're supposed to be the gap generations. She wonders if their visceral battles with the Earth, just to scrape by, will end up too foreign for them to survive it. She wonders if they are too alien.

But she feels deeply human, willing to suffer through any earthly extreme, when she looks at Diana. If she had a daughter on the Ark she knows she would feel the same way. The Ark couldn't pause that.

Diana doesn't wake when Clarke softly greets her, runs the tip of her finger across her chubby cheek. Even at 2 years old, Clarke's daughter is fully extreme in herself; a loud, brash kid during the day and a heavy sleeper at night. Clarke tilts her head, her doctor's eyes moving over every part the baby, assessing. Finally, Clarke stands. Diana is an Earth-baby; she'll end up surviving so many more winters than Clarke will.

The moon's light starts to make its way through the window, muddied glass that has filtered moonlight both on Earth and in space. Clarke sees the snow is coming down even faster than before and hurries over to her side of the bed, suddenly shivering. She slips her feet under the blankets and furs and extra pillows that Bellamy insists on; she can feel the scarcity of his upbringing fill with each cover he piles on their bed. Clarke edges as close to Bellamy as she can without touching him. He is deeply asleep, breathing evenly, and bundled up to his nose; Clarke cannot bring herself to shock him with her frigid skin.

She's so aware of them both, her man and her baby, when she's trying to fall asleep. She listens to them breathing instead of counting sheep (she used to count oscillations, but that was in the Ark-days). The heat radiating from Bellamy's cocooned body is like a drug. She sinks into the bed as if the weight of him were on top of her. She wishes.

"What're you doing over there?"

Bellamy's gravelly voice startles her from her pre-sleep haze. She pushes her face further into the pillow.

"Performing surgery." Clarke yawns and tiredly orders, "Scalpel." She feels rather than sees him grin against the pillow.

"I mean, why are you so far away? I bet you're freezing."

"I am. I didn't want to wake you. I was being nice." But Clarke's already scooting toward him, and Bellamy's arm is arching over her to pull her hips flush against his.

"I can handle a little cold," he says as she sighs in relief against his chest, snuggles even closer. Bellamy twines their legs together.

"Your toes-!" He yanks his feet away.

"Shh!"

Clarke's head pops up to look toward Diana, but of course nothing happens. Bellamy nudges her chin with his thumb, shaking his head.

"She's out, believe me. Wick had her all afternoon, and you know him."

Clarke's mouth twists in an expression of half-amusement and half-disapproval.

"He had her sorting components again? He knows she's not allowed to 'engineer' until she's at least four." Bellamy pulls her down and she feels the slight rumble of laughter starting in his chest.

"He knows. He just had her run around one of those wooden spools a bunch of times..." Clarke tilts her face toward his, expectantly. "...while dragging that wire we salvaged."

"What?!" Clarke shoots into a sitting position. Bellamy is trying to cover his laughter in the crook of his elbow, at which he is failing, so she thumps him on the stomach. His hand comes out to stroke her forearm.

"I said she's fine. She really is. Just tired." He hoists a bulk of the blankets over her, his chuckles rising again as this effectively shoves Clarke horizontal. She lands a few inches away from him, pretending to be unamused.

"Can't Wick use his own kid to do his chores?" she mutters. Bellamy starts to slide his hand across her waist and she can't quite keep herself from leaning toward him.

"Wrench was there too. There were a couple of spools." His voice is regaining its sleepiness. Bellamy mumbles, comfortingly, "You were really proud when she started walking early. She's a genius."

Clarke grants him a smile. He pulls her back into his arms, his legs against hers, even his toes. Clarke nestles her head underneath Bellamy's chin, suddenly smiling at the thought of what the Clarke from even a few years ago would think of this. Well, past-Clarke would be pretty jealous, actually. She should have jumped him the day he showed her the plans to their cabin.

She's drifting off to sleep when it starts. Clarke often relishes reflecting on moments like this, how much falling in love with Bellamy has healed her, how much having Diana has opened up happier parts of herself. Her scars aren't so tight and noticeable when she's around them. But every once in awhile, her brain will throw out all of the horrible things that could happen to them.  
Clarke has already talked herself through the decision to choose love and fear over being alone and numb. But right now, her heart doesn't care; it's terrified for her. Suddenly, Bellamy is too, too warm. Her hands feel numb and yet jittery, and she curls her fingers into his shirt, trying to hold them still.

Bellamy isn't immune to his own heart, either; he still has nightmares that are decades-old and months-fresh. When Clarke's fingers suddenly grip his shirt, he rises out of half-sleep immediately.

"Hey, Princess," Bellamy's voice is soothing as he sits her up in the bed and eases the covers down to her knees. One hand holds hers in her lap, the other stroking circles on her back.

"I just- I just can't stop it," she gasps, breathing hard.

"Just ride it out, Clarke." He kisses her shoulder. "It's not real and I'm here. I'm right here. Squeeze my hand, Clarke." And she does. His hands are everything familiar; she knows every callus and scar, the shape of his fingertips. She thinks of him reading to Diana, mythology of course, by the fireplace. The pace of her breathing starts to slow.

Bellamy is so present and the ache in her heart is already starting to fade. But she brings his hand up to her lips and sighs against his palm. Bellamy kisses her cheek, once, twice, and Clarke can smell only him, and a little bit of Diana, and woodsmoke from Bellamy's, their, fireplace.

"It could happen someday," Clarke sighs, sadly. It doesn't feel like a substantial concern, even a few minutes after the thoughts gripped her so viciously, but she still has to say it out loud. Even though she knows he knows, thinks about it too.

Bellamy turns his hand against her cheek, cupping her jaw. His voice is right against her ear, his warm breath fanning out against her neck.

"Whatever happens, Clarke, " the earnestness of his tone brings tears to her eyes, "We're so much better together." She nods fiercely, mad at herself for pushing him to think he needs to say these things.

"I know," Clarke whispers, trying to convince him.

"Does it make you want to run?" Bellamy's voice is challenging her. Clarke twists toward him, arms sliding around his neck. She feels him take a deep breath.

"No, no, never. I never would, not again." She is afraid for a moment that she's never convinced him. But then she feels him nod. He's only been trying to prove something about her to her, as usual.

"I know," he whispers, sounding certain. "It's so scary but it's so good." His lips graze her neck with each word and she can't get enough of him, ever.

She laughs a little, squeezes him tighter. "It goes away so much faster than it did before," she promises. Clarke leans back so they're nose-to-nose, plays with the curls at the nape of his neck.

"...when you rub my back."

Bellamy's eyebrows raise in surprise. Clarke lets out a large sigh, feeling lighter, and nods at him. His arms fling out to his sides.

"You want a back rub right now? After I've been all emotionally supportive?" His surprise is quickly transforming to a smile as Clarke sighs and nods again, resigned.

"Really, thanks for the support. But it's the only real cure," and she lifts her shirt over her head. Clarke slides down slowly onto her stomach, sweeping her hair over one shoulder, looking back at him. Bellamy is smirking down at her now and Clarke feels his fingers twitch through the blanket where they are resting on the back of her leg. Bellamy's eyes are intense and Clarke can feel her body grow warm in anticipation, so she makes it better and worse; she closes her eyes.


	5. Fingertips

CH. 5

She knows what he's going to do before he does it. His hands press into her lower back, fingertips first, and she arches against him a millisecond before his hands slide up to her shoulders. Bellamy's rough palms rasp against her skin and Clarke shivers, the proof of his hard work and dedication melting her. He'll give her the massage because she asked, and he'll reward her flirtations too.

Bellamy slides his way under the blankets covering her legs and lets his knees settle on either side of her. Clarke relishes the weight of him, wants to look back at him again, but she keeps her eyes closed. If she looks at him too soon then she knows he'll tease her more. A flush rises up her body and she knows he can feel it under his hands. She is already so warm, so different from only an hour ago, and suddenly, she's thankful it's so cold outside. His thumbs glide alongside her spine, his fingertips tickle their way up her neck and into her hair.

"Oh," she murmurs, "I think I'm going to keep you around." Clarke's voice sounds drugged even to her own ears.

"Just for this?"

"Uh huh. This one thing." Clarke sighs as Bellamy's hands travel lower and his fingertips press into her sides. "You do remember I'm not ticklish?"

Bellamy chuckles softly. He never ceases in his efforts to find the secret place that will get her to laugh. But right now he leans down to her ear, his breath making her scalp tingle, "You think I'm trying to make you laugh right now?"

Bellamy nuzzles her neck and then Clarke does laugh, as she instinctively knocks her shoulder against his chin, to his surprised gasp. His hands tighten around her middle and he leans further into her body, pressing her down. Clarke feels his smile against her neck again and wills her body to stay still this time.

"Hey now. I'm being nice here," he admonishes quietly. Clarke half-heartedly wiggles her hips in response. Bellamy freezes. She grins; she's so close to opening her eyes to see his face.

"Oh, was that mean?" Clarke has a guess about what his eyes look like right now.

"Oh!" Clarke laughs fully into the pillow as she reaches back to rub her shoulder blade. "Was biting necessary?"

Bellamy's lips brush softly against her fingers and she moves her hand to let him kiss the fading mark. Clarke can feel him nodding and she props her chin on her hands, smiling contentedly.

"Your eyes didn't open," he grumbles, and her smile gets bigger. His lips are starting to travel downward. She pretends not to notice.

"Did you help deliver twins tonight? I'm a very tired woman. I've been asleep this whole time."

There's a shift in the mattress as Bellamy slides down next to her then, one leg still slung over her waist. He pinches her chin lightly so her eyes pop open in surprise.

"Bellamy!"

"Harper had her twins? Is she okay? Are they okay? Did someone get Benn off guard-duty?" Clarke mimes letting her head droop, and Bellamy smirks at her. "Okay, okay. You would've told me, and of course someone got Benn off of guard-duty."

But he still seems alert, more aware of his surroundings than a moment ago. Clarke presses her lips together in endeared irritation, and slides her hand against Bellamy's jaw, letting her thumb graze his lower lip. She sees her fondness for him reflected in his dark eyes, remembers all the times they've lain together so close, so intimate, especially once they had given themselves permission. Then she pats his cheek.

"Don't worry. You can help with the babies." Her head really does droop then and she blows out a sigh. "Oh boy. Two newborns."

Bellamy curls around her and she feels the firmness of every part of his body against hers. Her arm slips around his waist. She lets her nails curl slightly into the dip of his lower back.

Bellamy speaks against her mouth, "We could handle two. We're really good with one." He presses a soft kiss to the corner of her lips when he feels her smile, drags his nose alongside hers, making her shiver again. She feels his eyelashes brush against her cheeks.

"I do like the one," Clarke manages around a sigh. Her fingers sweep up to now curl into the collar of his shirt, nails grazing down his throat. Bellamy's breath hitches and he presses his hips to hers.

"If we can make one, we can make two..."

He seems to be waiting now. Clarke cranes her head back. Bellamy is silhouetted against the snowy light and she can't quite tell how serious he's being. But his pulse lays under her fingers, and it's racing. She wonders if hers is too.

"Bellamy, two is a lot...," and she starts to shake her head. He leans away, just a little. "...let's make only one at a time, okay?"

He stares at her for a moment, processing.

"I'm going to bite you."


End file.
